


happy

by whiskeycherrypie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Belts, Dom Sam Winchester, Domestic Discipline, Episode: s14e15, Episode: s14e15 Peace of Mind, Fluff and Smut, Getting Back Together, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Coital Cuddling, Roleplay, Rough Oral Sex, Season/Series 14, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Spanking, Spoilers, Sub Dean Winchester, as part of the roleplay, consent is enthusiastic but never actually discussed if that's relevant to someone, first time in a long time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 18:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18124793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeycherrypie/pseuds/whiskeycherrypie
Summary: “You call this an ironed shirt?”Spoilers for s14e15 - Peace of Mind.The idea of Sam in a prissy cardigan, playing a husband to someone, just won't leave Dean's mind. Luckily, Sam's more than happy to play along.





	happy

**Author's Note:**

> God I get really inspired by new episodes. Hope you'll enjoy this - this is a canon set, mild roleplaying, mild BDSM smutty thing in which Sam plays at being a domineering husband in a fucking _cardigan_ and Dean plays at being his house ~~wife~~ husband.

Dean preferred not to think about his reasons for doing it as he raided one of the communal closets for a pair of slacks, a freshly ironed fed shirt and a cardigan that they had used on a case at some point, probably pretending to be the CPS or maybe university professors, he didn't remember. Sam hadn't brought his Pleasantville outfit back with him, obviously. Hell, Dean hadn't even _seen_ him wear it, but Cas' matter-of-fact yet somewhat smug description just wouldn't leave him alone.

The logic in placing the outfit on Sam's bed and then making himself scarce, just lingering in his own room behind half shut door, wouldn't stand up to much of his own scrutiny, so he just ignored it altogether.

He'd done _something_ , that was all. A little nudge. Now it was Sam's turn. If Sam wanted, he could play dumb and they would just go on the way they had been for years now.

But if pressed, Dean would have to say that was not what he wanted.

“Dean, could you come here for a second?”

Sam's room was past the corner, not too far, but not technically on the same hallway. Sam must have been out there, perhaps even peeking at Dean's door, calling out fairly loudly, his voice carrying with ease in the now empty bunker.

And he sounded... not himself. One last deep breath to steel himself, Dean headed out in the direction of Sam's room. The door was near closed, the light inside a little dim; a bedside lamp on, likely, not the overhead light. Dean pushed in.

And his breath stopped in his lungs. Sam was... Sam was wearing it, the dark slacks, cardigan left unbuttoned over his shirt.

“Yeah, Sammy?”

Sam pointed to his own chest. “You call this an ironed shirt?”

“I... ” Now hat he looked for it, Dean saw the shirt was all rumpled, which he was positive it hadn't been when he'd left it.

This was it, then. Sam had responded in kind, now all Dean had to do was push forward. “I'm sorry, let me get you a new one.”

Sam caught his hands as he went to push the cardigan off Sam's shoulders.

“That's it? A half-assed apology? Is there any reason why you didn't get it right on the first try, I mean, this is your job, right? Or do you have something better to do with your time?”

Each word was like a splinter of heat burying under Dean's skin.

“No, of course, I'm sorry, Sammy, just let me- just let me fix it.”

“I'm not letting you do jack shit, Dean, not until you've learned your lesson. Strip.”

It should maybe be awkward, or embarrassing, this straight-forward roleplay, Sam looming over him with a deep frown, talking like he came out of a domestic abuse awareness flier. It especially should have been awkward because they hadn't done this in so long, not since before Dean got the mark, and maybe they would have been better off easing into it, re-learning the shapes of each other's bodies, re-learning how to kiss each other, and instead they were here, Sam all menacing even in his stupid gray cardigan and Dean nearly falling to the floor in his haste to get his clothes off.

But it wasn't. Dean was too fucking turned on and too happy to feel awkward. They were going to do this, they were going to be back together, they were going to steal every little bit of pleasure they could spark between them, and Dean was going to _have_ this thing, this shameful little need all fulfilled whenever he wanted it to, by the only person he had ever really wanted it with.

Sam's expression shifted for a moment when Dean was naked, the stern facade slipping into something softer, more Sam-like and Dean preened a little. But Sam's gaze snapped past his pushed out chest, noticing his smirk and the game was back on. Movements all jerky, like he could barely restrain anger, Sam grabbed his pillow and tossed it onto the ground in the middle of the room, pointing a finger at it.

“On your knees.”

Dean did, blood rushing into his head, like it was a move in reverse, like he got up too quickly instead of going down. Sam stepped behind him so that Dean couldn't see him and he opened his mouth on an exhale, chest all jittery with uneven breaths. This was what Sam was doing to him. A couple of faux-angry words, the order to get naked and down, and he was already a goner, dick all chubbed up against his thigh, feeling the heat of a flush down his chest.

They never should have stopped.

Sam touched his head then, just an open palmed, proprietary near-pat right on the top, then slid down in a caress, a scritch.

“Hands behind your head and you keep them there no matter what. Or I get _really_ pissed and you don't want that.”

“Yes, Sammy.”

Fingers entwined at the back of his head, elbows straight out like he'd been taught, Dean watched as Sam came back into his field of vision. He had a belt in those slacks Dean had gotten him, and was pulling it out of the loops slowly.

Goosebumps broke over Dean's skin. Shit. _Yes_.

Once Sam pulled the belt out, he folded it haphazardly in half and tapped the stiffest part, where it was bent, under Dean's chin, forcing him to look up into Sam's eyes.

“I don't know if you really deserve to call me that, Dean.”

Dean opened his mouth and came out empty on any retorts. Even back then when they had been doing this often, they hadn't been messing around with different names and _titles._ He didn't know what Sam wanted from him.

His hesitation earned him another impatient tap under the chin.

“Chief?”

To Sam's credit, he didn't break, but it was a near thing, mouth twitching as he fought back a smile, eyes glittering just for a second with open affection. Only too late did Dean realize how badly that could have gone; after all, almost everyone who had ever called Sam chief seriously was now dead.

“Don't test me, _darling_. You fucked up my shirt. It's your _job_ to take care of my needs.”

Dean got it, then. He licked over his lips quickly, not sure how that word would go past them, but eager to try anyway.

“Yes, husband.”

“There you go,” Sam breathed, pulling back, rounding around Dean until he couldn't see him again.

The smooth leather of the belt touched the small of his back lightly. “Now you're gonna take it and then you're gonna think about how you're be better from now on.”

He was expecting the first stripe over his ass and bucked forward in surprise when it hit his upper back instead, a hot, snapping line right across his shoulder blades.

Sam waited for him to regain his balance. “Not a great start,” he told Dean flatly and Dean shivered. It had been a fake scenario, before. Sam had rumpled the shirt on purpose and it was just pretext anyway. But this, this was Dean fucking up for real, a rookie mistake, getting thrown off by the first hit. The heat in his belly only got stoked further with the humiliation of it.

The next strike did go on his ass and it was everything that Dean could have wanted, the sound of it loud in the hush of the room, perfectly centered on the tops of cheeks. Sam's always had impeccable aim.

The next one near well wrapped around his waist, biting into his skin hard and Dean blinked against the heat on his face, already shivering, cock bobbing in the air in front of him.

“You know, I really do all,” Sam said conversationally, circling Dean. “I provide for you, don't I? Is it really so much to ask that the couple of things I want from you be done well?”

“No, no, it's not too much, Sam, I am sorry, it won't happen again.”

Sam came closer, the bulge in his pants obvious and mouthwatering. But all he did was palm Dean's cheek, letting him nuzzle into his hand. “I know you'll do better, sweetheart. Look at you. We've barely even started and I can see how sorry you are already.”

He nudged Dean's cock with his knee then, the polyester of the slacks unnervingly smooth and plasticky over the head. Dean grunted and nearly pulled away, only muscle memory keeping him in place.

Apparently satisfied, Sam went back to it.

Somewhere between the rising fog in his mind, Dean had to admire how good Sam was at this. The strokes hurt, but not nearly enough to drown out Dean's awareness of the situation, of how he was playing at being a chastised househusband to his own brother, of how he was taking punishment for a false accusation willingly kneeling down and how, above all, hot he was for it, dick as hard as he could get it without actually touching himself, precome cooling at the tip, balls starting to ache as he went without any relief.

Dean had never really been in it for the pain. He didn't mind it and it was necessary to get to places, but the main attraction, the main itch to scratch was always just letting himself go, opening himself up, letting Sam wring him out, tear him open and then put him back together.

And opened up he did feel now, back and ass and the backs of his thighs tingling with hot pain from the loud snaps of Sam's belt. Sam the fake, mean husband who needed to teach him a lesson melded in his mind with Sam the brother who needed to apologize for a transgression he hadn't even made, not of his own free will.

There was a pause and Dean swallowed, slowly realizing that it had been a while since a strike landed. Sam had worked up a good rhythm but had pulled back.

“Three more,” Sam finally announced into the silence of the room, broken only by Dean's rapid breathing.

One, the belt snapped right across the tops of Dean's thighs, harder than before, a pulse of fire first, then just _heat._ The second got him over his ass again, with enough force to actually make the globes jiggle and Dean blushed, _hard,_ no doubt in his mind whatsoever that Sam saw that perfectly. And he must have liked what he had seen, because the last one went to the exact same spot, rinse and repeat.

Next thing Dean was aware of was Sam gently untangling Dean's fingers from where he held his hands at the back of his head and helping him lower his arms without pulling a muscle. Blood rushed back and Dean groaned.

Pressed behind him, Sam massaged his upper arms, helping to get rid of the pins and needles faster. When the worst passed, Dean dropped his head back, feeling Sam's firm stomach and below it the hard outline of his cock, looking up at him upside down.

“Let me take care of you?” he said, words more slurred than he had anticipated.

Sam nodded, pushing Dean's head forward and coming to stand in front of him.

“No hands,” he said, but he was far from the composure he'd had at the start. This was getting to him too. Sam had always been all about scenarios and about research and about _control,_ both of Dean and of the situation, but there was inevitably a moment where he snapped and let go, whatever he had pent up in him at the time bursting out of him in bouts of roughness and dirty, mean words and frantic fucking. Dean was really, really looking forward to it happening just then.

Sam undid his pants for him, dropping them down so that all Dean had to do was lean forward and nuzzle against the hot, smooth skin of him, breathing the long familiar scent in. He took his time, just rubbing his face against it until Sam hissed, Dean's stubble probably getting to him, and then Dean ducked down and caught the head in his mouth. He was near damn well drooling and he used that to push forward, slicking Sam up as he went, tongue pushed down by the girth.

Fuck, why had he ever gone without this? The answer was obvious; he couldn't have it at first with Gadreel hiding just beyond the curtain of Sam's mind, and then the mark had made him feel like he couldn't trust himself, and worst of all, he hadn't even _wanted_ this from Sam, the mark fighting against what he had long since accepted as a part of his taste and nothing to really overthink and waffle about. And then there had been his unnatural, planted affection for Amara and then _mom_ had come back and fuck if that hadn't been the best scenario for rekindling an incestuous romance.

Finally they were at the spot where they both _wanted_ and both _could_ and Dean was a little struck dumb by it, cock seriously hurting now from the lack of attention, but he was willing to let that go far beyond that if he got to enjoy this, the heat and taste of Sam in his mouth, the little sounds he kept hearing from above his head as Sam gave himself to it, the blurry sight of Sam's abs tightening where his belly peaked out from below the rumpled shirt. He hadn't even taken the damned cardigan off and Dean could feel him overheating, the salty scent of his sweat mingling with the more bitter, earthier taste of his groin.

He was messy about it, spit pushed out of the corners of his mouth because he didn't swallow any of it, wanting it to get Sam all perfectly wet for him, enough so that he could slide all the way down, press his nose into the short, wiry hairs at the base. He tried, again and again, choking on it, but he was out of practice and he wasn't quite there, but Sam was talking anyway, voice all breathy, all pretense of anger or disappointment long gone.

“Fuck, Dean, Dean, oh god, you're so- keep going, keep going, _please_.”

It was almost better than getting his own cock touched. It was Sam losing control just like Dean had thought he would, but it wasn't violent, Sam's hips were barely moving, he wasn't fucking into Dean's throat the way he could – the way Dean kinda wished he would – but his words were raw and his moans were getting louder and louder, hands gentle but frantic on the back of Dean's head, through his hair, palming the sides of his face.

It was good, _perfect,_ so sorely missed, and Sam was going to come in his mouth and Dean was going to take all of it, husband or brother, it didn't really matter.

That last bit of control lost, Sam _did_ fuck forward a couple of times and Dean gagged before his throat gave in for the last several thrusts and Sam went rigid with a loud groan, dick swelling even larger as he started to come, the taste flooding Dean's mouth. He waited for it all, tongue held still for Sam to milk it all, then gave one last little suck and swallowed it, looking up at Sam through the inevitable tears in his eyes.

Sam swayed a little on his feet. Dean knew, because Sam had told him a long time ago, that Sam was prone to immediately zonk out after his orgasm, but liked to push through it, savor the haze or focus on Dean for a lot longer.

And that, too, apparently hadn't changed because Sam shook his head like a waterlogged dog and then looked at Dean with renewed intensity, grabbing him by the shoulders and more lowering than pushing him to the floor. The pillow ended up a little awkward under Dean's thighs, the rest of him stretched out on the rug, not the most comfortable position, but there was something to be said for the feeling of vulnerability that Dean experienced at the moment, naked, on his back, legs thrown open as Sam knelt over him, considerably more dressed despite the pants tangled around his ankles.

Sam put one hand on Dean's chest, holding him down, the other wrapped around his cock, swallowing Dean's inevitable groan at being finally, _finally,_ touched with his own mouth; their first kiss in years. It was messy and hungry and tasted like Sam's come and Dean never wanted it to end.

Well, except for when Sam pulled back to shuffle down Dean's body and put his mouth on Dean's cock, stroking the base as he licked around the head just in time to get a mouthful when Dean arched his back, shout tearing from his mouth, and came, pulsing in shivering intervals, shaking for minutes after it was done.

“Sammy...”

 

* * *

 

 

They ended up on Sam's bed, under the covers. They knew how to have comfortable silences between them, they had to, otherwise they probably wouldn't have survived years in the car together, but this was maybe the most comfortable kind.

“You know it wasn't... it wasn't some grand, perfected illusion that I could really miss. I just mostly had an empty head and drank martini.”

Something, just a tiny piece, loosened inside Dean.

“It never works, I know,” Dean shrugged. “I just wish you had an easier go of things. Like, always.”

“I know. Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, turning a little so he could press himself closer to Sam.

“So, this, huh?” Sam huffed a while later, hand coming up to play with Dean's hair again. It made him think of Sam doing it when he was blowing him and he squirmed just a little bit, heat waking up in his belly again.

He leaned in and kissed Sam. “I'm not gonna have you prancing around with some fake wife.”

Sam laughed into his mouth. “Of course not, you're the best wife I could have.”

“Oh come the fuck on!” Dean groaned, pulling back, smacking Sam on the chest. “Shut up or you're ironing your own shirts.”

“Maybe I should, since you do such piss poor job of it,” Sam said, mock seriously.

Dean rolled him onto his back and held him down, easily.

“That's a big fat lie that you're going to regret very, _very_ much, _darling._ ”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can reblog it with a little graphic [on tumblr here](https://whiskeycherrypie.tumblr.com/post/183483147760/happy-3104-words-by-whiskeycherrypie-rating). Kudos and comments are love!


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